a plea mixed with cream
by corruptedwishes
Summary: It's simply an injustice if the cute barista knows his name and he doesn't / artist!austin is troubled and barista!dez ends up being more helpful than he thought
**because I said I would write deztin and kirsty wants me to write artist!austin. also inspired by a prompt laura was interested in so hope you guys like it**

* * *

He's still tired.

His eyes are heavy from the lack of sleep and his lecture starts in about twenty minutes. He shrugs on a denim button down over his black t-shirt, one splattered with paint from who knows when. There isn't enough time to take a shower; his arms are covered in splotches of blue and his hands are dirty with smudged graphite and lines of ink. He's practically a mess, but he'd rather not miss a lecture for the sake of looking good. His hands run through his hair, trying to make himself look somewhat presentable before he heads out the door, ready to go.

It becomes pretty clear to him that he'll need more than just splashing water on his face to wake himself up when he walks into a lamp post. It's early enough that no one sees, but his skin is still flushed from the incident. He needs caffeine, no matter how much he wants to deny it. He's not that big on coffee or tea; it's usually much too bitter for him but it does help. He supposes that it's his fault for staying up so late working on his latest piece, but he pushes the thought away.

There's a coffee shop across the street and Austin decides to go in. He already passed the nearest Starbucks and he'd rather not waste anymore time before his lecture. It's quite a quaint place and the soft instrumental leaking from the speakers with the warm air already makes him feel more awake. His eyes glance at the menu and there are so many choices but his lecture starts in ten minutes and he decides _fuck it_. He settles on a regular coffee with two creams and two sugars; he needs a wake up call, but that doesn't mean he's going to deal with the bitterness that comes along with it. Maybe he'll get a muffin too since he's feeling cheeky.

There's only one other customer in the place and she had already placed her order. She looks at him and gives him a shy smile before stepping out the of the way and grabbing a seat by the window. He steps up to place his order, a coffee (lots of cream and sugar) and a blueberry muffin. His hands are searching through his wallet for bills and his eyes never fully look up until the barista speaks.

"Name?"

Austin looks up and his brown eyes meet blue. Well, he thinks they're blue but there's specks of yellow in there and there are so many shades that he doesn't want to just call them blue. They're complimented by striking red hair and pale skin that brings out the intensity of the complimentary colors. Freckles scatter his skin and they're brought out by the black uniform. Austin's eyes search for a name tag of some sorts and he's disappointed to find nothing.

"Um..you alright there?"

He snaps out of his trance and stutters. It's simply an injustice if the cute barista knows his name and he doesn't so his thoughts jumble until he produces one.

"V-van Gogh."

The barista's eyes widen before his lips form a smile. Austin can hear the Sharpie against the cup and flushes. He hands over the bills and the barista leaves to get his order. Within minutes, a small bag and cup await Austin and the freckled boy smiles before waving him goodbye. Austin scurries out the door and runs to his lecture that is due to begin in three minutes. He enters the auditorium seconds before the professor does and quickly takes a seat in the back. He places his notebook in front of him and takes out the muffin from the bag. It's slightly burnt and he's a bit bothered by it but whatever, it's still a muffin. He sips his coffee, revealing in the sweet creaminess before taking a look at what was written on the cup.

 _Vincent_

A smile makes its way onto his face and he finds himself forgiving the barista for his too toasted muffin.

* * *

He finds himself coming back the next day.

He's a bit more put together today; his skin is still stained with various mediums he was working with the night before, but his clothes are clean and his hair is neat. There's a good half hour before his lecture starts and he could have gone to the Starbucks by his place but he doesn't. Instead, his feet guide him towards the same little shop he was at yesterday and his chest is filled with a strange anticipation without knowing why.

(He does know why, deep down inside. He just doesn't think to admit it to himself yet).

The door swings open and his eyes already spot the red hair he was secretly hoping to see. His eyes scan the case filled with baked goods and he decides to work his way down the surprisingly large selection of muffins. He steps up to the counter and the barista greets him with a wide smile and crinkly eyes.

"What can I get for you?"

"Coffee with two creams and two sugars and a chocolate muffin."

"Alright, name?"

The freckled boy looks at him with anticipation, perhaps hoping that Austin would give up his name today. Austin's eyes search the boy once again for a name tag and falter when they come up empty-handed. He decides to give another fake name and watch what the barista will do.

"Picasso."

Disappointment flickers across blue, but a glimmer quickly replaces it. A muffin is placed in the toaster oven and the order is ready within a few minutes once again. A smirk dances across the freckled boy's lips and he waves Austin off. When he steps out of the shop, he immediately turns the cup over to see what was written.

 _Pablo_

It's Austin's turn to smirk and he takes a sip, reveling in the sweet creamy brown that warms him up. Maybe he can learn to like coffee. He takes a bite of his muffin and finds that it's slightly burnt again, but he can't bring himself to care very much.

A pattern starts to develop over the course of the rest of the week. Austin goes to the little coffee shop before his lectures in the morning and orders the same drink with a different muffin to accompany it. He provides a different artist's last name each day and the barista hasn't failed to come up with the matching first name.

"Da Vinci." _Leonardo_

"Dali." _Salvador_

"Monet." _Claude_

He's impressed by the barista's knowledge of artists and finds himself looking forward to his morning visits. He passes by during the weekend in the morning and doesn't spot a head of red, so he figures that the barista only works on weekdays. That's alright though, he needs a pick me up more on days when he has lectures rather than when he just goes home.

By the end of the second week, the barista already has his order ready for him and awaits to write another name on the cup.

"I figured you'd want to try all our muffins, so I'm just going down the line. Anything you don't like specifically?"

"Not really."

"Cool. Name?"

They fall into this routine and Austin finds himself wanting coffee nearly every day (but only from that shop. He tried going to Starbucks over the weekend and ordered the same thing, but it didn't taste nearly as good). They make small talk every now and then. Simple "how are you's" and "like the weather's," but they don't tend to say much more than that. Instead, glances of interest and small laughs are exchanged, and Austin is filled with affection for the freckled boy. He decides to call the barista that in his head. There are so many that are scattered across his pale skin and Austin wonders how long it would take to count them (and what image they might form if he connected them). He shakes the thought out of his head before he starts falling a little too far down the hole.

It's been practically a month since their first meeting before Austin sees the freckled boy somewhere other than the coffee shop. He's in the library with his sketchbook and multitude of colored pencils when it happens. Several textbooks are laid out across the table and Austin decides to take a break from studying when he whips out his supplies. It's hard for him to focus too long on a subject; the words start to get lost and he starts thinking about pancakes rather than Pavlov when he looks at his psychology book for more than thirty minutes.

He opens up to a new page in his sketchbook and starts with small strokes. He isn't sure what he's doing, but then he thinks about the freckled boy that served him coffee yesterday with _Andy_ written on it and he begins to draw eyes. His movements are fluid as the lead glides across the paper. He breaks out his colors and starts off with a pale blue. It's his base and he adds in hints of yellow into the mix and deeper blues to add depth. He takes some white and highlights the iris, thinking about how blue the freckled boy's eyes are and how he could swim in them. He's shading for seems like hours (only a few minutes in reality) when he hears a voice.

"That's amazing!"

It's breathless but full of wonder and Austin looks up to see the subject of his art staring back at him (thankfully only one eye is fully drawn in or he'd have a problem of explaining why they look so much like the boy standing by his table). A flush makes its way onto Austin's cheeks.

"Thanks."

"Really though! The colors are so nice and the whole thing is so life-like. You're really good."

Austin thinks he's getting redder and he hopes he can pass it off as being too warm (it's late fall and that makes it a terrible excuse).

"Can I?"

The freckled boy gestures to the chair across from Austin and he nods, not trusting himself to not stumble over his words. The boy takes a seat and his eyes scan across the table.

"Psychology?"

"Yeah, it's my elective this semester."

"Neat, I'm thinking about taking it in the spring. Maybe I'll be able to figure out what dogs are thinking."

"I don't think it works that way."

Austin stifles a laugh at how ridiculous the comment was but it oddly seems to suit him.

"Who knows? Maybe everyone else isn't using their knowledge correctly."

They chat for a while, questions thrown back and forth about one another. The boy is a film production and photography major while he's an art major. The boy actually quite likes coffee and working in a coffee shop is a dream when he gets to smell coffee grounds every morning (almost every morning). He doesn't admit that he doesn't like coffee much (lest his plan is discovered) and talks about his love for pancakes and muffins.

"I figured. Well, the muffin part anyway."

They exchange smiles and the freckled boy gets up to leave, he's got an appointment in a few minutes and he doesn't want to be late. He's walked a few steps before turning around.

"See you on Monday Blondie."

"Back at ya Freckles."

They laugh a little too loud (the librarian shoots a glare at them) and the boy leaves through the double doors. Austin turns his attention back to his drawing, completely forgetting his studies, and finishes the pair of eyes. After spending an hour talking to the boy, he goes back in with more shades of blue to make the irises more detailed.

They stay true to their unspoken promise as Austin sees the freckled boy on Monday when he orders his coffee before his lecture. He's already made his way through all the muffins and moved on to scones. They're a little burnt (he has yet to bring it up) like his muffins from the past and he starts to wonder if the boy is doing it on purpose or if he really can't work the oven (spoiler: it's on purpose). He has yet to offer his real name and yet to find out the name of the freckled boy. It's alright though, he likes playing this game of _guess the artist_ and he's always happy that the boy hasn't failed to answer every one of them correctly.

They begin to see each other on the weekends at the library after a week goes by. Austin thought the first time would be a one-time deal but the freckled boy starts showing up when Austin is studying and they spend some time talking. He feels his eyes brighten up when the boy comes to view and he likes the feeling of a flower blooming in his chest; it hasn't happened in a long time. His paintings are becoming less dark and his color palette expands into oranges and yellows and _brighter_ blues. He isn't sure if it's the freckled boy's doing (it is), but he finds that he likes it a lot. His days are getting better and it's great, but his bad days aren't all gone.

* * *

It's three months after their first meeting that he has a _bad_ day again. He's up at four in the morning with newspapers spread all over the wooden floor and drying canvases sitting across the room. His palette is filled with splotches of black and white (with different shades of grey mixed in the middle) and his painting is chaotic. There are strokes going every where and he doesn't really know what he's trying to do. All he knows is he almost broke another paintbrush and he just _can't_ sleep. His eyes are bloodshot and lids are heavy but no matter how long he lays in bed with closed eyes, he cannot go to sleep.

So he paints.

He paints throughout the night and into the early hours when the sun greets the world and he starts to calm down. He switches out his messy canvas for a new one and cleans off his palette to replace it with brighter colors. Austin finds himself painting crazy patterns with odd colors and realizes that they're from the pants the freckled boy wore to the library last weekend (the only thing the boy doesn't like about his job is that the uniform is so dull. His wardrobe is the _complete_ opposite). It's around ten in the morning when he stops and he decides to make his way to the library. He still can't sleep no matter how hard he tries and figures that reading about classical conditioning might get him to doze off.

It's Sunday and the library isn't packed as usual so he grabs his seat. Half an hour later, the freckled boy shows up with a smile and Austin lets out a sigh of relief that he hadn't realized he had been holding. He returns a small smile himself and the freckled boy's face falters. The boy notices the dark circles and troubled eyes and takes the seat across from him.

"You alright?"

Normally, Austin would say yes and laugh it off to reassure people that he's fine, but today isn't normal and the freckled boy isn't like other people, no matter how cliche it must sound. The boy's face is filled with concern so genuine, and Austin hasn't seen that in so long. He hasn't slept in over twenty-four hours and it's just been _bad_ , so he decides not to lie. He doesn't say yes and laugh it off. Instead, he mutters a small _no_ and hopes the boy didn't hear. But the boy did, and Austin's got a hand over his and a thumb stroking over it gently. It's all too much and he starts to break down.

He talks about how he doesn't know. Doesn't know whether he's doing the right thing by being an art major and coming here. His parents love him, but his dad thinks he's got a bazillion in one chance of making it and he can see the strain behind their smiles when they ask how he is over the holidays and how they're reminded that they have to pay tuition for their son to pursue _art._ He wants to create though, he wants to make new things and make people feel ways they might not always feel. He _wants_ this, but it doesn't always mean it's the _right_ choice.

The freckled boy still has Austin's hand in his and he listens intently, his bright and flashy clothing becoming brighter with the incoming sun from the windows. It's Austin's third year in university and he starts to wonder if he should stop and pursue something more practical like business and take over the family mattress store before it's too late. This is when the freckled boy steps in.

"But you don't like it, right?"

The freckled boy looks at him with so much intensity that Austin has to look away before he might crack.

"No, I don't."

"Then don't do it."

The freckled boy begins to go on a tangent. He believes that Austin is talented. He's seen the doodles and works all over his notes and sketchbooks and the boy wishes he could create things as easily as Austin can. He says that film production isn't the easiest thing to get a job in either, but he's still doing it because he loves it. He knows that there are worries about money and whether time is being spent wisely but the freckled boy has figured that if he's doing something he doesn't like, that's a bigger waste of time.

"You aren't limited. There are so many things that use art. You can work for studios, animators, even other designers. There's more out there than just physical art if you're worried."

Austin takes these options into account and decides to research more later. His eyes gain a bit of brightness back and he nods earnestly. The freckled boy seems satisfied.

"I'll look into it, thanks Freckles."

"No problem, you're going to try and stay with art, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. You're too talented to not pursue it Blondie."

The freckled boy gets up from his seat and pulls Austin into a hug.

"See you tomorrow!"

Austin goes back home and stares at the pattern he was painting earlier in the day. He smiles and paints a coffee cup along with a burnt muffin over it. That night, he sleeps better than he has in a long time.

It's Monday morning and he's got twenty minutes before his lecture. He rushes out the door with ink stained hands and unruly hair. His hands reach out and wrench the door to the coffee shop open, his breaths coming out hard and heavy. The freckled boy has his order ready as usual with a Sharpie in hand to write another name of an artist.

Austin is overwhelmed by the kindness he sees in the boy's eyes as he walks up to the counter.

"Name?"

He hesitates for a moment before it leaves his lips in a whirlwind of hurry.

"Austin."

The freckled boy's eyes widen. Austin isn't usually a last name, so the boy realizes he's finally got the pleasure of knowing his name. The black ink bleeds into the cup as the letters are written out. The boy hands over the cup and a bag with a bagel (he's gone through the scones now too) with a smile.

"Dez. Nice to meet you."

Austin's face splits into a wide grin and he's running out because his lecture is starting soon and while he'd like to chat with Dez, he doesn't want to miss any information. He shoots the bo—Dez an apologetic look and waves goodbye.

He's sitting in the auditorium and doodling all over his notes when he notices something else scrawled onto his cup.

 _Now that I know your name, maybe I can take you out properly._

 _xxx - xxx -xxxx_

He puts the number in his phone and decides to think about it later.

It's eight in the evening and he's been on edge for a bit. They know each other's names now. Things can either go up or down from here and he doesn't know what to do. He has a habit of screwing things up (it's annoying) and he doesn't want to do that with Dez, but he thinks back to yesterday and their talk in the library.

He was told to do what he wants and what makes him happy. Things won't always go as planned, but he won't know until he tries, right? He's messed up before because he thinks people can save him from himself, from his small panics and littles messes. He's learned since then that this is not the case. Only he can save himself, but that doesn't mean people can't help along the way. He thinks about the fiery red that he can't accurately capture through his colors because it's far more vibrant than his paints or pastels. He thinks about the deep blue that never seems to stay the same with every visit he makes and the freckles scattered across the pale milky skin that look like stars in a vast galaxy (he wants to get lost in it). He thinks about how much he wants to hold his hand and go to places other than the library and coffee shop where he works. He keeps thinking and breathing and _wondering_ if this will be okay. He decides to stop and take a breath. He really won't know until he tries, so he decides to try.

He pulls out his phone, and dials the number.


End file.
